Fading Light
by RedCoatsRedder
Summary: General Washington receives a message from his (favorite) aide de camp. Mild angst, fluff, WASHINGDAD to the max.


**For Annehh. Enjoy!**

Washington felt like the room was spinning. The messenger in front of him was standing in silence, waiting to be dismissed. The note that he'd brought with him lay limply in Washington's hands. The paper was dotted with bright red blood. And he knew exactly whose it was.

"General?" The timid voice of the messenger barely penetrated his swirling thoughts. It took an impossible amount of effort for him to croak out, "Dismissed."

Then, he was alone in the room with nothing but his thoughts and a truth which he so desperately wanted to ignore. But despite his best efforts, he simply couldn't avoid the letters on the page.

It was a note. A note from his dearest aide de camp. Alexander.

 _General-_

 _It is with profound apologies that I write this to inform you I have been wounded. The doctor says I have a chance of pulling through- the bullet did not strike anything vital, somehow. But he also says I experienced great loss of blood and an infection appears to have set in._

 _-A. Hamilton_

Stupid, stupid boy. Only his Hamilton would apologize for getting shot.

Dear God, he'd been _shot._

The camp doctor looked scandalized when Washington practically ran into the barn they'd turned into a sickbay. He rushed forward, wringing his hands and saying over and over, "General, please, you shouldn't be in here, you could fall ill."

The winter that had just passed had seen a great many soldiers sent in to recover. Fever was likely in all corners of the room. But now the barn was empty, one of those rare times when no one was sick or wounded.

Except for one, of course.

A sole bed was occupied in the back corner of the room.

"Alexander?" Washington hadn't meant for it to come out as a question, but the doctor nodded.

"Yes, your aide de camp. He's been doing alright for the past hour. The infection set in rapidly, but we're doing everything we can to try and keep it from spreading. If all goes well, he should be able to combat it. Colonel Hamilton seems to be a healthy young man, other than the bullet-hole in his gut." The doctor finished his little speech with a slight smile. Washington wasn't quite as amused, but headed towards the back of the barn all the same.

Hamilton wasn't asleep. Then again, he hardly slept when he was in good health, so why should this be any different?

"Your Excellency!" Hamilton saluted, and attempted to tuck his arms behind his back, but when it pulled at his wound, he winced.

"My apologies, sir." The young man gave a sheepish grin. "I'm afraid I have been rendered rather useless."

Washington frowned. "Injury does not make you useless, son. When you heal, you can get back to your desk." _Where you should have been, instead of out delivering a message._

The General sighed. He had sent Alexander out to deliver the message because the boy was going stir-crazy. Being holed up in the same rooms for days and days on end could do that to a person, especially one with as much energy as Hamilton.

And of course it had all gone to hell. Now that energetic enigma that was his youngest aide was confined to a bed for God knows how long.

"My dear boy," Washington began. "I should never have allowed you to get hurt."

Alexander looked like he'd just been slapped. He opened his mouth to continue, but Washington held up a hand.

"How bad does it look?"

Hamilton lowered the blanket and lifted the hem of his shirt to expose a white bandage wrapped around his midsection. Or at least, parts of it were white. One large area of the fabric was stained a deep brown-red, with traces of dirty yellow around the edge of the stain.

To put it simply, it was awful.

Washington could do naught but stare for a few seconds. Hamilton peered down worriedly. "It wasn't this bad half an hour ag-"

The boy's head lolled forward. "Alexander?" Washington prodded his aide gently. "Alex, son?" No response. Washington felt the stirrings of panic. "Doctor! Something's wrong with Hamilton!"

In a heartbeat, the doctor was there. When he saw the blood, his mouth tightened into a grim line.

"General, I'm going to need you to step away from the patient. It looks like he tore at the stitches somehow. I don't know how much blood he's lost, but…" he paused, looking uncertain. "There's a chance he's lost too much. I'm sorry, sir."

Washington stood mutely to the side. His eyes widened when the medic unwrapped the wound. The edges were a bright, inflamed red. The center was just a red hole, oozing blood and pus. It was, quite frankly, disgusting.

The doctor cleaned the wound, stitched it up again, and wrapped a clean bandage around it. Washington watched hopefully. Alexander must still be alive, then? They wouldn't spend time stitching a dead man's wound.

When he was finished, the doctor turned to look at him. "He's alive, for now. You can stay with him if you want, but please call me if he wakes up." With that, the doctor was gone.

Taking a seat on the bed next to Alexander's, Washington watched his aide sleep quietly. He could just barely see the rise and fall of Alex's chest as he breathed.

"My boy, I need you to wake up. I know you're strong, I know you can. Fight it, Alexander, come on." Washington repeated it over and over like a mantra.

No response.

The sun set, the moon rose. The stars twinkled brightly overhead, as if in the camp below a man wasn't losing hope for his son. It was past midnight and the camp was silent. Washington had fallen asleep on the other hospital bed, but not before taking hold of Hamilton's hand. If the boy woke up, he wanted to know.

And just a few hours before dawn, the young man stirred.

Alexander came to in the same bed he'd been in after he was shot. The pain in his gut seemed to have tripled, and he let out a quiet gasp.

Next to him, a figure lost in dark shadow slept, clutching his hand. The General?

Hamilton tentatively pulled his hand out of the older man's grasp. "Sir? Sir, wake up."

General Washington stretched leisurely for a few moments, then stopped suddenly, as if he'd remembered that he'd fallen asleep in a dark barn. Clutching the hand of his secretary, no less.

He did not expect the General to move to sit on his bed and pull the upper half of his body to his chest. "Alex, we thought you might not wake up. I was so worried for you. You've been out for a long time, son."

Alexander was still being held to his commander's chest, and to be honest he wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. This shattered any propriety but at the same time it was comforting. Something he could use after he'd apparently passed out again due to the bullet hole in his gut.

"...does it hurt, son? The medic said if you wake up you'd be in a good deal of pain. You managed to pull the stitches and the wound came open. You've lost more blood than we thought you could, but you're alive, and that's enough." Washington gave his aide a reassuring smile.

As if the question had reminded his body of the wound in his stomach, a surge of pain shot through Alex's body. He gasped wordlessly.

Washington looked at him, concern filling his gaze. "Alexander? Son, what's wrong? Do I need to call for the doctor?"

Alex shook his head, taking slow breaths. The pain ebbed slightly, enough that he could focus on his surroundings. He cautiously placed a hand near the wound, and when it didn't cause any discomfort, he let it rest there.

Wait. Back up one minute. While he'd been distracted by the wound, Washington had propped his chin gently atop Alexander's head, and was humming the melody to a song.

" _Down in the valley, valley so low, Hang your head over, hear the wind blow. Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow. Hang your head over, hear the wind blow."_

Even though Alex had just slept for longer than he had in a week, the warmth and the soothing words washed over him, and his eyes began to slip shut.

Washington knew when Alexander had fallen back asleep. The boy relaxed and his breathing slowed and evened out. He smiled softly and continued the next verse of the song.

" _Roses love sunshine, violets love dew. Angels in heaven know I love you. Know I love you, dear, know I love you. Angels in heaven know I love you."_

The next morning when the doctor came in to check on his wounded patient, he found him held in the arms of the General himself. Sighing, he turned around and went to grab a cup of coffee. And to find his friend and let him know he'd won their bet.

 **DONE! Hope you enjoyed! Sorry it took so long. The lullaby is called "Down in the Valley". Until next time! ~RedCoatsRedder**


End file.
